Remember When
by Tempestt
Summary: Insert fake sister A into memory slot B. When the monks form Dawn, the PTB take a helping hand in the creation of the fake memories. How does the interactions with Dawn in the past change Buffy and Spike's relationship in the present and ultimately the future? Begins in S5 but quickly downturns to S2. Spike/Buffy Nominated at Sunnydale Memorial FF Awards
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from BtVS. No copyright infringement intended.

Spoilers for Buffy vs. Dracula.

A/N: This story starts in S5, but quickly downturns into S2.

**Remember When**

Chapter One

_September, 2000_

Spike popped up from behind a tombstone like a demented whack-a-mole, and Buffy barely checked the instinct to smack him back down. Oddly, it wasn't the Slayer that reacted, but the very girly response usually accompanied by a screech of '_Eww, what is that icky thing?_ _ Kill it! Kill it!'_ It was her Slayer reflexes that actually stopped her from smooshing Spike like he was a spider in a bathtub.

"What do you want, Spike?" If eyeballs made noise, Spike would have heard hers rolling all the way up in her head. She had a long thrall-filled night and all she wanted to do was get to her medicine cabinet for some extra minty Listerine to wash the taste of vamp blood from her mouth.

"Hmm, lets see. Peace on Earth, the cure for world hunger…your soddin' toy soldier's head on a platter." Spike flicked his cigarette butt, just barely missing her nose. The unexpected action made her hesitate a step, before she marched on, a scowl firmly deforming her pretty lips.

"Gees, what flew up your butt?" These little conversations with Spike were always such a joy. You'd think she was Spike's own personal complaint office. Well, maybe that wasn't exactly true. Spike didn't complain, like say Xander. Instead, he took great pleasure in pointing out the misbehavior of the so-called white hats. For some reason, it tickled him pink when they did something he construed as being morally gray. Like he was one to talk. Spike's moral compass was so screwed it pointed south. As in straight down to hell.

She knew with absolute certainty he could never be trusted, especially with her family.

"I jus' don't 'preciate you sending your hunny to threaten me in my own crypt," he snarled. Spike was genuinely angry. Not a big surprise there. As far as she knew he only had two modes. Angry and lascivious. And drunk. But she didn't know if drunk was so much a mode as it was a state of being. There was something else under the snark she couldn't quite place. It almost sounded like fear, but she knew that couldn't be right. She had never seen Spike afraid of anything. Not even Angel.

"What are you talking about, Spike? I didn't send Riley to do anything. Besides, I can do my own threatening, thank you very much." Buffy was insulted. She wouldn't send someone out to do her dirty work for her. It stank of cowardice. Besides, she took pride in her skills. She'd been honing them for years now. She especially liked doling out threats to Willy. He made this ghastly choking sound that was kinda funny.

"Don't I know it," Spike muttered bitterly under his breath, and Buffy's lips quirked up at the corners. Yah, she had a reputation to maintain. She couldn't do that if someone else was out there acting in her name.

"I heard that," she spat.

"Wasn't trying to hide it, you bint." Spike tucked a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, cupping his hands as he lit it. He tilted his head back as he took an angry drag, his eyes fluttering as the nicotine soothed his nerves. Buffy glared at him, and he blew a thin stream of blue smoke into her face. Coughing, she drew back her fist to pop him in the nose, figuring her first instinct, girly or not, to smack him down was the right one after all, but he was already out of reach, having danced this particular dance before. For once, Buffy didn't pursue. She was just too tired and wanted to go home. Sighing, she rolled her shoulders, and continued down the path. Spike fell in step beside her, just outside of striking distance.

"So I hear you ran Drac out of town. Bugger owed me eleven pounds."

Buffy blinked. "Wow, news travels fast on the Sunnydale demon grapevine."

"Yah, well. Been a slow Tuesday."

It had only been a few hours since the showdown at Dracula's castle. The prerequisite Slayer/Watcher debrief was more stilted than usual. Buffy had no intention of telling Giles she drank vampire blood, and the Watcher was more than disconcerted at the mention of the three sisters. After that there was a round of reassuring Xander he was no one's butt-monkey and Anya's subsequent questions of what role a butt-monkey fulfilled in society and if there was income or orgasms involved.

The hardest part of the evening was trying to reassure Riley she wasn't under Dracula's thrall anymore. Honestly, Buffy didn't think she'd ever been. At anytime she could have summoned the strength to resist him, but like he said, she hadn't wanted to. Even when he was in her room, and she was still caught in a dream-like state, she could have stopped him from biting her. She knew what Dracula was offering when he brushed his fingers over her scar. Complete and total ecstasy. Something she hadn't felt since Angel bitten her.

It wasn't fair to Riley, and she was sure he suspected something deep down. Sex with him was good. It was normal boy on girl sex. It could never hope to compete with the bliss of a vampire bite. After all, he was only human, and that wasn't such a bad thing. That was exactly what she wanted. So what if it left her a tiny bit….unresolved? A little late night slayage took the edge off. Those were just the facts. But said facts didn't need to come to light. There was no reason for them too. All it would do was hurt Riley and injure their relationship.

That craving, the deep, dark, fetishist desire she had to feel her blood rushing through her veins until she was lightheaded was something she could never confess to anyone. Not Riley, not her watcher, and certainly not the rabid killer bouncing along by her side with angry, kinetic energy.

She frowned as he balanced himself on the curb like a kid playing high-wire. "Wait. What were you saying about, Riley?"

"Nuthin'." He tossed his butt into the gutter as they turned up the walk to her house.

"Spike," she hissed and they both heard the threat she was so proud of in her voice.

"Nah uhh. I didn't realize Captain Cardboard was tryin' on independent thought for size. Don't want to get him in trouble with the superhunny for just tryin' to find his balls."

They were outside her front door, a pool of yellow light flooding around them before tapering off into darkness. Red-hot anger seared Buffy's brain and she hauled Spike up by the labels of his leather coat.

He could feel her warm breath on his cold cheek and he watched in fascination as her eyes darkened from gold-flecked hazel to a dark jade. His cock hardened and he knew when she hit him it was going to make him feel so much better.

"Now, listen here," she snarled.

"Hands off the leather, luv. It'll bruise," he interjected, cutting off her insult.

"I'm gonna bruise _you_ so friggin' hard your jacket's gonna whimper in pain." She hauled him closer as she hissed her threat, their noses nearly touching.

"Promises, promises," he whispered, his cheeks hollowing as he pursed his lips with glee.

The door slammed open, startling them apart.

"Are you two bickering again?"

"Lo, Nibblet." Spike smirked as he smoothed down the labels of his jacket.

"Shut up, Dawn. We don't bicker," Buffy huffed, automatically taming her hair with a nervous hand.

"Nah," Spike answered. "This is just fore—"

Buffy slapped her hand over his mouth before he could finish saying foreplay. His blue eyes laughed over the edge of her palm, but he made no move to shy away. His tongue slicked between his lips, tickling the center of her palm. Buffy squeaked, pulling away to hastily rub his spit off on her jeans.

Dawn rolled her eyes and abandoned her post at the threshold. "Mom! They're home," she screeched as Buffy and Spike stamped the mud off their boots before coming inside.

"Seriously, do you have to scream?" Buffy reprimanded as she turned her back to Spike so he could help her jacket off.

"Well, duh. How else is she going to hear me?" Dawn flipped her long brown hair, nearly catching her sister in the face. Spike hung Buffy's jacket up in the hall closet, and his next to it.

"Right. Of course. How thoughtless of me." Buffy waited until Spike was done, before lacing her fingers with his. He brushed his lips along her jaw in quick, loving kisses before whispering something dirty in her ear.

Dawn's eyeballs rattled, and she decided not to wait for their lovey-dovey moment to be over. "So did you get Dracula?"

Spike flicked the shell of Buffy's ear with his tongue before drawing away. "Yep. Your big sis staked the poncy bastard good an' proper. Course the berk kept trying to rise again. He never had much in the brains department. He'll be moving on before first light. No one says no to the Slayer when she's in superbitch mode."

They followed Dawn into the kitchen as he spoke. As they passed the counter, Dawn waved her hand towards a large pickle jar. "That's two quarters." She paused, scrunching her nose. "Does berk count?"

"Nope," Buffy replied with a pop.

Sniggering, Spike delved his hand into his front pocket where he kept a roll of quarters handy. He popped out two coins and tossed them into the swear jar with a clank.

"Looks like I'll have those new Doc Martins by the end of the month." Dawn wiggled her hips as she danced over to the stack of plates left on the counter by her mom. Without being told she picked them up and danced her way into the dining room to set the table. Buffy rolled her eyes at her appalling taste. The menace she was dating had a horrible influence on her baby sister.

"Since you called me the B word you owe an extra quarter. That means you only get one more tonight or Mom's gonna have your hide."

Spike wrapped his hand around her waist, his fingers digging possessively into her hips. He pulled her close, inhaling deeply as her sweet scent enveloped him. He dipped his knees ever so slightly, nestling his hard cock into the warm heat between her thighs.

"Later tonight I'm gonna take you upstairs and-" he whispered the rest in her ear, reveling in her breathless giggle as he told her exactly how he planned on fucking her. He pulled away and dropped five more quarters in the jar.

"Buffy. Spike. How did things go with Dracula?" Joyce breezed in from the dining area. She stopped at the stove to stir the bubbling red sauce that smelled like heaven.

"Brilliant," answered Spike. "I finally got my eleven pounds from the bugger. Gonna take the Slayer out for ice-cream later."

Joyce shot him a long, exasperated look. "Language, Spike." He looked down at his dwindling roll of coins. He was going to need to stop at the bank tomorrow night before they patrolled. He tossed another coin in the jar.

"I'm fourteen," Dawn whined as she followed her mom in from the dining room. "I think I can say bug—" She was ground to a halt by a dirty look from Spike, which was somehow more effective than her own mother's.

"Sorry, mum." Spike tried to look contrite, but on him it just came out impish. Joyce shook her head and pulled out a bottle of red wine. She handed over the bottle along with a corkscrew. Without protest, Spike opened it.

"Buffy dear, would you take the salad and breadsticks out while I put together the spaghetti?"

"Sure thing, mom." Buffy rounded up the baskets off the counter.

"So, we're going out for ice-cream?" Dawn bounced in front of Spike, her smile dazzling.

"Sure thing, Nibblet."

"Dawn. I think Spike and Buffy would like to have a little time alone," Joyce reproached as she tossed the noodles with the sauce.

"'s okay, mum. Wanna treat my girls with my not so ill gotten gains. You should come too."

Joyce merely shook her head. Spike spoiled them all rotten. "I'll take advantage of the peace and quiet and take an extra long bubble bath."

Spike grinned unrepentantly, rocking slightly on his heels. "Then I'll be sure to keep them out extra late."

Joyce just shot him a look, and took the bowl of spaghetti out to the table, leaving Spike to pour the wine. He got out three pieces of stemware and poured modest portions.

"What's it taste like?" Dawn asked at his elbow. He picked up the last glass, pouring a swallow of red liquid.

"Like grape juice. Want some?" He offered it to her. She peeked up at him from beneath her fringe of bangs. She looked so young, it made his heart clench with the memory of the first time he saw her. All of twelve years old, full of spitfire and courage as she tried to protect her sister. She hesitated and he cocked his scarred brow.

His challenge tweaked her adolescent pride and she swiped the glass from him, nearly fumbling when it was lighter than expected. Bravely, she gulped the wine down, her face screwing up in childish distaste.

"Spike!" Buffy growled from the doorway.

"That so does _not_ taste like grape juice," Dawn spat and ran to the sink to rinse out her mouth. Buffy veered towards the fridge to pull out a bottle of Welches.

"What?" Spike snickered as his Slayer continued to shoot him little glares of death. "I have to get my evil in somewhere. Providing a minor with alcohol fits the bill with the added white hat bonus of teaching her it's nasty. She won't be drinkin' wine for a long time."

"You hope." Buffy poured her sister a tall glass of grape juice and shooed her off to the dining room.

"She better not or she'll have to deal with me."

"Ohh, the Big Bad making sure little girls don't get drunk." She flashed him a smile.

The certainty he absolutely could be trusted with her family evident in every nuance of her body.

"Damn straight. Where there's drunk teenage girls, there's usually drunk teenage boys and as far as I'm concerned my little nibblet is going to stay virginized for eternity."

Buffy rolled her eyes, and picked up her glass, leaving him to carry his and Joyce's. "You're terrible. You know she's gonna wanna date soon."

"Over my dead body."

"Good thing you're already dead," she sniggered, bumping him in the shoulder.

"Ha, bloody, ha."

"Spike!" He cringed at Joyce's sharp tone. Repentantly, he placed her glass in front of her, setting his down beside Buffy's. He trudged back into the kitchen and tossed another coin in the jar.

"Bloody, buggering, fuck," he muttered under his breath, peeking over his shoulder to make sure no one heard him. He added another three quarters and threw the spent coin wrapper in the garbage. At this rate Snack Size was going to have her Doc Martins and a Sex Pistols t-shirt by the end of the month.

His lips curled into a satisfied smile as he entered the dinning room to sit down and have dinner with his family.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from BtVS. No copyright infringement intended.

Spoilers for Halloween

A/N: The first couple of chapters are going to be Spike/Dawn friendship centric. There will be plenty of Spuffy later in the story, but in the beginning the intention is for Dawn to be the conduit for Spuffiness, as her presence affects character attitudes. S2 will remain basically cannon with major changes in Becoming I and II. Keep in mind that Buffy is sixteen so her thoughts are less than mature, and well, Dawn is twelve. I don't remember much about being twelve, it being somewhere in the foggy, distant past for me, but I do seem to remember the phrase, 'that's not fair' being pretty central to my every thought.

Remember When Chapter Two

_October, 1997_

Buffy left the old, smelly, clerk guy to wrap up the totally awesome dress for her while she searched the isles for accessories. She was going to look like one of those beautiful, old-timey women who waltzed in candlelit ballrooms. Angel would go ga-ga over it. For once she would be delicate and feminine and _womanly_. The kind of woman Angel was used to championing.

Once upon a time, she would have been one of those girls who needed saving. Small, fragile and perfectly coifed in the newest style, she was a vision of femininity. But after her Calling, she was the one to do all the saving. Which was totally fine. She was all onboard with the having of superpowers, and girl power and you know, stuff. But…

Buffy was loathed to say it, but when you were stronger than your hunny it could make you feel less than girly. Worse, it made you doubt if your guy even saw you as a girl. Guys were super sensitive about that sort of thing. They were usually all about the saveage of the damsels, but if she was fulfilling the guy role of Prince Charming, then what role was Angel supposed to play? Clearly, he decided on broody, cryptic guy. And, hey! It totally worked for him. 'Cause, he was Hot with a capital H.

She told Willow that Halloween was a get out of jail free card to remake yourself into anything you desired. Well, for one night, Buffy wanted to be an honest to goodness girl again. She wanted to swish around in long skirts with an hourglass figure and push up boobs that would make Angel's eyes pop out of his head.

She smiled as she picked up a package containing a long brunette wig. She was gonna go so girly she'd barely recognize herself. After all, Angel liked brunettes didn't he? Buffy looked at the hair in the package. It was a little lighter than Dru's, but it would do.

"What'd ya think?" Dawn popped up in front of her holding a package. Buffy examined the sexy Little Red Riding Hood costume critically.

"A world of no."

"But, Buffy!" Dawn screeched at an unholy octave designed to get her way. While Joyce may have relented, her mature ears being more sensitive, Buffy was still safely ensconced in the less than mature stage of her life, and could withstand the tactic she had employed herself not that long ago.

"No. Mom would kill me, then you. And as much as I would love to get rid of you, like a bad rash, I'm not willing to sacrifice myself." Buffy used too many words and Dawn stopped listening somewhere around…No.

"But, it's cute," she pointed out. Having just got her first training bra, Dawn now felt it was time to delve headfirst into womanhood which included showing off said boobs. She couldn't understand why the other women in her family didn't seem to agree. Especially her sister. If Buffy's skirts got any shorter all of London and France would see her underpants.

"No. It's sexy." Buffy countered. "You're too young for something like this."

"I'm twelve." Dawn stomped her foot in a flurry of youthful indignation.

"And that would be my point." Buffy threw the package onto a nearby shelf with flourish. "C'mon. We'll see if we can't find something at the Supermax on the other side of town. They've got more kid stuff." Buffy walked back to the counter to pay for her costume.

"That's so unfair." Dawn snarled, stomping behind her.

"That's life," remarked Buffy with wisdom stolen from her mother.

888888

Dealing with snot-nosed eight and nine-year-olds? So not her thing. Top it off by being chaperoned by her big sister? _So_ putting the unfair into her life.

And that was before Lady Elizabeth put in an appearance. Dawn didn't know what was going on, but it was buckets of wrong.

"We must stay close to the menfolk. Especially, the one with the musket. They will protect us." Buffy dragged Dawn into the house with a surprisingly weak grip. Dawn stared at her sister, a little bug-eyed. What the…Menfolk? Seriously?

"Buffy, what happened to 'go girl power?' You know, Slayer and all."

"I have no idea of what you speak. Now stop prattling and come along, little sister."

Well, some things _never_ change. Even while thinking she was Princess Peach, Buffy was still bossy, and though she couldn't remember her own name or what a car was, she sure as heck knew Dawn was her sister, and had bossing rights over her. Dawn supposed the 'suitable' Red Riding Hood costume Buffy picked out for her was kinda old-timey with its fake ribbon corset covering her collarbone and flouncy skirt that went to her knees. They sorta matched.

Princess Buffy, as Dawn was starting to think of her, wasn't comfortable around Angel, which she thought was hilarious. She never liked Buffy's boyfriend. He did that creepy, lurky thing that really wigged her out. Then there was his bumpy problem. Dawn knew about vampires and Buffy's slayage gig since last year. How could she not? _Seriously_. Sneaking in and out of the house every night might get passed mom, but not little sisters. After whining, wheedling and threats of blackmail, Buffy had confessed everything. Then made her pinky swear on her Hello Kitty diary not to tell mom or Buffy would make a point of standing outside her classroom door every day to pick her up after school instead of staying a respectful distance at the curb.

Their whole secret sister society almost got blown late last year, when Buffy got home earlier than usual and Dawn, who'd been ransacking her sister's room for counter blackmail material, had to quickly hide in the closet or else get caught by an irate older sister. She figured she could sneak out while Buffy did her nightly bathroom ritual. What she didn't count on was Mr. Lurkypants following her sister through the window.

Dawn had no idea who he was, but by the way Buffy was cuddling up to him her big sis sure knew him. Then they kissed, and Dawn screamed the house down.

When mom burst into the room, Mr. Bumpy was gone and Dawn was bawling in Buffy's arms. Buffy told their mom it was all her fault for telling ghost stories under the covers, and that Buffy's tale of the Green-Eyed Maniac freaked Dawn out. Mom yelled and grounded Buffy for a week, but allowed her to stay with Dawn. She was too freaked out to protest when Buffy crawled into bed with her and wrapped her arms around her. They stayed like that all night, Buffy whispering all the rules for vampires and how they didn't apply to Angel, because he had a soul. Dawn never bought it. She knew there were plenty of bad guys out there with souls, and she didn't like how Angel looked at her sometimes. Like she was the annoying kid sister he wouldn't mind eating.

So when Mr. Bumpy freaked Princess Buffy the - H E double hockey sticks – out, Dawn followed her sister right into the black of night. Even if it was really scary out there. Cuz that's what family does. They stick together. Buffy taught her that.

Thing was. She was only twelve. Yah, she didn't like to admit it, but it was a handicap. When the stinky, yucky pirate guy grabbed Princess Buffy in the alley they were running though, Dawn snatched up a broken two-by-four and hit him square across the back. 'Cept it didn't really work out. In fact, the guy didn't even feel it. Persistent in a way that only a Summers woman could be, Dawn kept whacking him, while falling back on the secret weapon all twelve-year-old girls possess—screeching at decibels that made dogs howl.

Suddenly, the pirate was tossed away like he weighed less than a trash bag full of shredded paper, and Buffy collapsed on the ground in a heap of velvet and lace.

"Buffy!" Dawn leapt to her side, searching for wounds. Another perk to being the Slayer's baby sister and secret sidekick; she totally knew what wounds looked like, having watched Buffy patch herself up more than a couple of times. Not seeing anything obvious, Dawn patted her sister on the cheek. "Ohmigod. Did you faint?" She asked her unconscious sister. "I'm so totally never letting you live this down."

"Well, well. What do we have here? Slayer surprise."

Dawn glanced up at the man with the weird accent. He was dressed in a punk rocker costume, which she had to admit, he pulled off. Especially, the jacket. She wondered where she could get one and if her new blackmail fodder of a fainting Princess Buffy was enough to purchase one. Sometimes it was hard to put a price on sibling extortion.

"You know, Buffy?" She rabbited over and tugged on the guy's sleeve. "You gotta help her. Something's happened and now she's all girly Princess Buffy. You called her Slayer so you must know how strong she is usually. Please, help me to look after her until she's better. It's not safe." Dawn added the last part solemnly. She may be twelve, but she wasn't dumb. Really, she wasn't!

"Hands off the leather. You'll bruise it." The guy shook her off, and Dawn jumped back with an eep. She shot a quick glance at the mouth of the alley where a horde of carousing imps passed by. The guy shouldered by her and hauled Buffy into his arms and strode off. Dawn practically had to run to keep up as he headed towards a warehouse.

"Thank you so much for helping. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't shown up."

Spike tuned the little girl out. Normally, she would have made a nice bite-sized snack, but he had a four course Slayer buffet laid out for him and he didn't want to taint her taste with an appetizer. She still smelled of power, but it was all wrapped up and stifled by the magic running rampant in the air.

He kicked his way into an abandoned warehouse, smiling when he saw it was being used as a flophouse. He laid the Slayer out on a ratty couch that was home to more than a few mice and went back to block off the door so they wouldn't be disturbed. When he came back, the fresh-faced girl with brown pigtails and big blue eyes was tucked up next to the Slayer, fussing over her.

The little girl brushed a brunette curl off the Slayer's brow and Spike frowned. The magic turned the wig into real hair, and while it was longer and tousled into feminine curls they really didn't suit the Slayer. She was a warrior, not some milk-mouthed maid. Besides, he preferred her blonde. It made her look like a Valkyrie. A beautiful warrioress ascending from the battlefield, escorting fallen warriors to the great big mead hall in the sky. Fucking gorgeous, that's what that was. He shook of the romantic thoughts and glared at her mousy brown hair. Not that her looks were going to stop him from eating her. She was going to taste good going down either way.

"-that's what you do for family."

Spike suddenly tuned into the little girl who had prattled on non-stop since the alley. This was the first thing she said that was remotely interesting. Family was always interesting to Spike.

"What?" he snapped.

The little girl sighed and rolled her eyes in a way that had him reconsidering his earlier distaste in eating her.

"I said, that normally I would have followed Buffy's first rule, but I figured in this case the 'Golden Rule'," the girl used air quotes, "overrode it."

Spike planted his feet and crossed his arms. Slayer rules. This oughta be good. "And what's that?" he asked with a smirk.

"What?" the girl asked bewildered. "The first rule or the Golden Rule?"

The little girl really was kind of precious with big blue eyes and a smart mouth. Spike bet she'd taste like confectioner's sugar going down. He figured she must be the Slayer's little sis, but he hadn't given the family a second thought after the disastrous fight at the school. Going after the family wasn't his style.

"All of 'em."

"Oh." Snack Size sat up perkily, folding her hands in her lap as if she was about to recite a long memorized memorandum. "Well, there's the basic, don't ever, ever invite anyone into the house and don't go out after dark, rules. Those get kinda tricky 'cause mom don't know about the whole vampire thing and sometimes we have to run intrafurnace.

"Interference," Spike corrected automatically.

"Yah, that."

"You mean the Slayer's mum, don't know about her being Chosen and all that rot?"

"No." The little girl shifted. He stared her down and he could literally see her defenses collapse. She leaned closer to the Slayer as if to protect her from his scrutiny. Brave little bint.

"She told mom and dad when she first got Chosen and they thought she was looney toons." Wide-eyed and loopy looking the little girl waved her hands around her head. Spike snorted. Baby bint had no idea what true insanity looked like. "They put her in a hospital for crazy people. Then dad left." Snack Size looked away. She now had her sister's head in her lap, seeking and giving protection at the same time. These two were tight despite their age difference. He could see that. Losing big sis would destroy li'l sis. Best to kill them together.

"So she told them it was all made up so they'd let her out. Then me, her and mom moved here after the divorce and Buffy got all Chosen again." She paused, a petulant little frown puckering up her face. She took a deep breath, and looked him right in the eye. "It's not her fault." Snack Size raised her chin defiantly, daring him to say something mean. He just cocked his brow. Did the little girl really think she could challenge him?

"So the rules," he prodded.

"Oh, right." She scrunched her nose up as she thought. "So the first rule is Run. Run away as fast as you can. Don't wait for anyone else, no matter who I'm with. Even if its Mom or Buffy. Especially if its Buffy, cuz, you know, she's usually with the superpowers and stuff."

"Right."

"Anyways, I'm supposed to run to the nearest house. Not a public building like a school or library, but a house. I'm just supposed to burst right in, even if it's a stranger's cuz vamps can't come in. So when Angel scared Buffy into running out of the house, I should have stayed." She said the last part mournfully, darting little fearful glances at her unconscious sister. Big sis really had the rules beat into the little one's head. Good thing, all that.

"Princess, here, was scared of tall, dark and broody? Color me shocked," Spike sneered. He fished out a fag and lit it with flourish. Snack Size watched the glint of his zippo with interest. _Likes shiny things does she? What a little magpie._

"I know, right?" She giggled. "Normally, she's all, 'oh, Angel. You're so big and handsome.'" She clasped her hands over her heart and fluttered her eyelashes in such a way it made Spike crack a smile.

"You don't like the Great Poof?" Spike observed.

Snack Size's cute little smile melted away and she fidgeted nervously with the hem of her skirt.

"Buffy says he has a soul," she said loyally.

"But?" It just tickled Spike pink that Angel's whole soul routine didn't seem to work with the innocent little girl, yet here she was spilling all the family secrets to the Big Bad like he was her own personal bleedin' diary.

"He looks at me funny sometimes. Buffy says it's a predator thing and not to worry about it 'cause he's good now. But it still weirds me out."

"How does he look at you?" Spike shifted. He had a feeling he knew where this was going. Snack Size looked about the right age.

Dawn's nervousness ratcheted up a notch and Spike watched as she pressed her knees together and tucked her ankles back in an unconscious defensive stance he had seen many women take over the years. Especially, when faced with Angelus.

"Dunno. Kinda like how Coach Hewlett looked at his peewees." She leaned forward as if she was imparting a secret. Something she probably overheard from the adults when they were talking in hushed whispers. "He was a bad man," she said in a conspiring tone.

Spike knew she had no idea in what way Coach Hewlett was a bad man. He felt an odd sort of gratefulness in his chest for that. He knew in this century, little girls weren't nearly as innocent as they had been in his youth, but this girl was pretty close. Sure, she knew what went bump in the night, but she didn't know what kind of threat a truly bad man could be. Spike may be the Big Bad, but he sure as hell wouldn't be introducing her to those kinds of evils.

"So, anyway. Running away is the first rule, but like I said I think the Golden Rule totally overrides it."

"And what is the Golden Rule?" Spike was curious to find out what was so important to the Slayer that it overrode all the other rules that were clearly designed to protect her mum and baby sis.

"Family first," Snack Size chirped as if reciting the gospel and Spike blinked. If Spike had rules, which really he didn't, that would be his Golden One too. Of course, it only extended to himself and Dru. Angel and Darla could sod off for all he cared.

"Buffy thinks I'm some stupid, little kid." Spike refocused on the girl who was still prattling on, her apple cheeks flushed with anger. "She's always telling me, family first, family first." The girl threw her hands up in the air. "But what she's really saying is me, mom and the rest of the world, first. Buffy always puts herself last. I mean, yeah, she's totally obnoxious, and she's always snooping in my business, but she's still my sister and she's not herself right now. Someone has to look out for her for once, right?" The little girl curled her fingers into her sister's long hair. She had a sad look in her eyes that was too old for her years. It made Spike wonder if she knew about a Slayer's life expectancy.

"Right," Spike agreed softly. He took a deep drag from his cigarette to soothe his nerves. For a ball of fluffy nothing, baby bint had spunk, he'd give her that. His gaze flittered to the still unconscious Slayer. She must have learned it from big sis. He'd never come across a Slayer with as much fire as this one, not even that gal in New York.

Suddenly, the idea of eating the Slayer in front of her li'l sis was less appealing. Plus it wasn't very sportsmen like. Maybe, he should wait until the Slayer was back to her old self and Snack Size wasn't around. He shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"So any other rules," he asked more to distract his own thoughts than anything else.

"Well, there's the second rule that applies if you can't run away."

"What's that?"

The little girl gave him a hard look that was pure, unadulterated Slayer and Spike knew it was the same look big sis gave li'l sis every time she repeated the rule to her.

"If you're still breathing, then you're still fighting," the girl intoned without a hint of waver. Something close to pride bloomed in Spike's chest. "Never let them get you down. Never let them get their fangs in you."

"Sounds about right, Snack Size," he agreed with a smile. "Though your such a dainty little thing…" he trailed off.

She popped to her feet. "Oh, Buffy taught me loads of dirty tricks," she beamed, coming to stand in front of him.

"Like what?" he asked indulgently.

The girl crinkled her nose. "They're kinda icky."

"Nothin's icky if it saves your life." He dropped his spent cigarette to the floor and stomped it out with a twist of his boot. He hooked his thumbs in his belt, rocking back on his heels.

"That's what Buffy says."

Spike felt a tremor at that, but he couldn't exactly identify what it meant. It shouldn't be surprising that he and the Slayer agreed on so many points. After all, behind their titles of Slayer and Vampire, they were still just warriors.

Snack Size held out her hands like sideways claws, her thumbs curled inward at a sharp angle. "She says to go for the eyes. To keep pushing my thumbs in not matter how much they scream or how icky it gets. I told her I'd totally hurl, but she gets this really bitc-err, mean look on her face, and tells me I'd better not if I want to live 'cuz as soon as they are on the ground I need to refer to lesson the first."

"Run away." Spike nodded and Dawn agreed. "Sounds good, but don't forget the ears." He reached out, tweaking hers. "They pull off surprisingly easy."

"Ewww," Her little nose scrunched up, and Spike smirked with a hint of human fang.

"What else?"

She shifted, her face heating up like a furnace. The girl really had the corner market on blushing. Her whole face went red.

"Idontwannasay," she mumbled and Spike found himself pitching forward on the balls of his feet to hear.

"What was that?"

"It's embarrassing," she hissed and Spike's lips twitched into a smile. This oughta be good. He could only imagine what the Slayer taught the girl.

"Too bad, I want to hear it."

"Well, you aren't the boss of me," she spat, her hands flying to her hips. Ha, bloody, ha. Someone had preadolescent attitude. He definitely knew she learned that from the Slayer. Right down to hand placement. Maybe, she wasn't as sweet as he thought in the first place.

"Guess, I'll be off. Good luck with the not being eaten and all that rot." He started towards the door, and as predicted she leapt after him.

"No, wait." She tugged on his sleeve.

He stopped, dropping a meaningful glance to his arm. She snatched her hand away from the leather like it was scalding. He folded his arms and waited for her to speak. She shifted her weight, looking at anything but him.

"Buffy says when fighting a girl, that kneeing them in the-" She vaguely motioned between his legs without actually looking. "Works just fine, cause they aren't expecting it, but it hurts us just as bad as it hurts guys. Well, maybe not as much, but you know…still with the ouchies. Anyways, when a guy attacks he's expecting it. It's like the classic girly attack."

"If done right, it can be pretty effective." Spike kept his feet planted wide apart.

"Yah, but Buffy says I'm too small and not really strong enough to pull it off."

"So, what does she suggest?"

If possible, the girl got even redder. "She said for some reason guys don't get as nervous when a girl puts her hands down there."

Spike's brows lifted. Now where could this possibly be going? Surely, the Slayer didn't tell her innocent li'l sis to give out hand jobs to get out of trouble?

The little girl covered her flaming cheeks with her hands and Spike noticed her pink sparkle nails were a little on the pointed side. Manicure from big sis?

"She said its better to twist and pull," she rushed out. It took a second to follow what she was alluding to and when he did, he grimaced. "She said it wouldn't work as good on someone who's wearing tight jeans like you, but if they're wearing slacks then they're fair game."

"Huh." He shoved his hands in his pockets and pulled his jacket tight around his body. Spike filed that little tidbit away on dirty pool for the next time he was planning on fighting the Slayer. He might even concede to a pair of tightie whiteys beforehand just for the extra protection.

Suddenly, he had himself an armful of sweet smelling, baby girl and it just about freaked him the fuck out. He shoved her away; running his tongue over his teeth to make sure his fangs hadn't dropped

"What the fuck are you doing, little girl?" he snarled with all the menace possible in his predatory body. She scrambled away, her blue eyes so big he was afraid he was going to trip over his feet and fall in.

"I just wanted to thank you for saving me and Buffy." She sniffled and it only made him madder. Stupid little girl. Didn't she have any common sense?

"Dawn, come here."

Spike glanced over to the couch. The Slayer was perched carefully at the edge. Her wig had fallen off and tendrils of blonde hair wisped around her face. She was glaring at Spike with a mixture of implacable rage and cold terror. He leered, rocking back on his heels. He was gratified when her terror became more pronounced. _That's right, baby. 'm the Big Bad. _She held out her hand and Snack Size scampered to her side.

"Slayer, you need to teach Li'l Bit not to get within snatching distance of the Big Bads. She's gonna end up someone's tasty little snacklet." He was genuinely pissed off. Snack Size shouldn't be going around hugging strange men, even if they seemed human enough. _Christ!_ Did the brat _want_ to get taken?

Outside there was a ruckus. The wooden crates and palates he used to block the door were being torn apart. Buffy's eyes skittered away when Angel called her name. Spike barely displaced the air, he moved so quickly. He caught the little girl by the shoulder, holding her before him as he stared down at the wide-eyed Slayer whose attention was now solely riveted on him. Exactly where it should be. Not on his poofter grandsire.

"I mean it, Slayer. Keep Snack Size inside before someone decides to use her against you." He had no idea why he was giving the Slayer advice on anything, much less on how to keep her family safe. A grieving slayer would be a sloppy slayer, then he could slide right in and have himself a real good day. He couldn't understand why the thought made him queasy.

"Let her go, Spike," she demanded softly. Almost as if she was afraid loud noises and quick movements would set him off. She wasn't wrong.

The last of the debris burst from the door. Spike released Dawn and headed for an open window. He knew he didn't have a chance against the older vampire and the Slayer combined. He launched himself onto the fire escape, but instead of leaping into the alley, he headed for the roof, extending his vampiric senses so he could listen.

"Are you injured?" He heard Angel ask. He assumed he directed the question at the Slayer, but he didn't hear an answer. Instead, the Slayer's voice softened into a tone he never heard from her before. Unsurprising, him being the enemy and all.

"You, okay? Did he hurt you?" Spike knew she as talking to Snack Size.

"No. Why would he?" Spike snorted. The girl really didn't have a lick of sense.

"Dawn, Spike's a vampire. A very bad one. He's dangerous." Spike smiled at the Slayer's words. After all, he was the Big Bad.

"He's worse than dangerous. You're lucky he didn't torture and drain you."

"Angel," Buffy snapped off his name with a hard edge. Uh, oh. Someone just earned themselves doghouse privileges.

Spike was furious. Eat her, yeah. That was fair. But torture her? She was just a little girl. Torture was for bullies. Men who picked on the weak, like the ones he staked with his namesake. Little girls typically didn't do anything to deserve being tortured.

"Did he do anything?" Buffy was asking.

"No," Dawn replied in a sweet, clear voice. Spike could hear an edge of defensiveness and he wondered at it. The Li'l Bit was probably worried about getting into trouble for breaking the first rule. "All we did was talk. He didn't do anything except carry you in here when you fainted…_like a girl._" Wow. It was truly amazing the amount of sarcasm twelve-year-olds could pack into a few simple words.

Spike snickered. He could imagine the Slayer's red-faced mortification.

"How long were we in here?"

"I dunno. Like twenty minutes."

"And he didn't do anything?" The Slayer was dripping with astonishment. He could smell it all the way on the rooftop. Spike commiserated. He had the Slayer unconscious in his arms, utterly at his mercy, and she still lived. Why? Cuz he got distracted by a chatty little girl. Someone, somewhere, hated him.

"He's up to something, Buffy. Playing you somehow."

"What could possibly be the end game?" Buffy sounded somewhere between curious and awed.

"I don't know. To get the girl's trust for some reason. Maybe to seduce her to hurt you."

"She's twelve." Buffy was outraged and Spike concurred. He could imagine Angel shrugging noncommittally and bile surged in his throat. How dare the prick paint him with the same brush as him? Spike liked his women to be _women_, not little girls. Worse, now the Slayer would be eyeballing him with a whole new level of disgust when they next met on the battlefield. Disgust, in general, didn't bother him, but this kind did.

"The younger, the better. More manageable," Angel rumbled. Spike fisted his hands, aching with the need to go back down and pummel his sire to death.

"That doesn't really sound like Spike." Buffy sounded doubtful, and a tiny seed of hope flared in his chest.

"You don't know him like I do."

"We've fought," Buffy interjected lamely, but Angel overrode her.

"Fighting someone isn't knowing them, Buffy."

Spike disagreed. Fighting was an excellent way to get to know someone. Who they protected and what they fought for showed their values as a person. How they fought revealed their personality. Whether or not they were wound tight or prone to fancy. Sometimes Spike thought fighting far superior to conversation. You couldn't lie about whom you were while in a fight. It was all revealed in the lines of the body.

"Well, I think you're just a poophead."

"Dawn," Buffy gasped. Spike covered his pleased laugh so Angel wouldn't hear

"No!" Dawn stomped her foot. "Spike didn't do a darn thing except help you and talk to me. He might be dangerous like you say, but he's nothing like Coach Hewlett. He's not a bad man like Mr. Bumpy over there is making him out to be. I mean, gawd, project much."

Spike tensed. He didn't know what he'd do if Angel attacked the little girl. He shouldn't, being all souled up and whatnot, but the Angelus he knew didn't like to be smarted off too. He guessed Snack Size had more of a handle on what it meant to be a bad man than she first let on. Damn, prime time T.V.

"What are you talking about, Dawn?"

Spike resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Maybe, the Slayer spent too much time slaying and not enough time being educated by _Law and Order_.

"Nuthin'." He could definitely hear her nervousness. Angel must be giving her the hairy eyeball. "Can we go home now?"

Spike didn't wait to hear the answer. He leapt to the roof of the next building, making his way back to Dru. He hadn't eaten that night, but it was just as well. Too many snot-nosed little kiddies about anyways. They'd probably give him indigestion.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from BtVS.

A/N: Thank you so much to those of you who have taken the time to review. I am so very glad you are all enjoying the story. I will do my best to keep the updates are regular as possible.

Also, I wanted to say thank you to whoever nominated this story at the Sunnydale Memorial Fanfiction Awards for best characterization of Dawn. That's just wow. I mean wow. Thank you so much. If you agree, go on over and give it a vote.

SPOILERS: Lie To Me

**Remember When**

Chapter Three

Spike stalked down the sidewalk. Soddin' dozy woman. Prattling on about blue-eyed pixies this and dancing sunshine that. How was a man supposed to conduct business when his home life was in shambles? There he was, trying to get that text translated, and Dru's dancing around singing to the stars, throwing out accusations that he's a bad dog. Hells forbid, he'd snap at her just the tiniest little bit. He _was _trying to save her after all! You'd think the bloody woman would be used to a little bad-mouthing, being Angelus' childe and all. But _no. _He gets banished to the doghouse. _Literally!_ She didn't let him out of that bleedin' kennel cage for three soddin' days! If he didn't love her so damn much he'd-well he didn't know what, but fuck how much was a man supposed to stomach?

It didn't help that she kept calling his wrinklies into question for not killing the Slayer when he had her all, but trapped like a fish in a barrel. Of course, pointing out that the reason he failed was because Drusilla allowed herself to be taken captive did not help his case. Bloody buggering fuck, did she screech up a hell storm for that little reminder. _Why didn't you protect me, Spike? Why did you let her get away, Spike? Why don't you love me enough to kill the Slayer, Spike? _It was enough to put a bloke off his feed, it was.

He rubbed his stomach, salivating when he caught the scent of something ripe and tart. He melted into the shadow of an elm tree, listening to the quick staccato of a heartbeat and the panicked clatter of approaching footsteps.

Something young and scared entered the yellow pool of light from the street lamp and paused. She gnawed her lower lip, gaging the distance to the next lake of light and the depth of the darkness between. Something startled her, instinct maybe, and she swiveled her head towards the shadows where he hid. Her glossy pigtails gleamed in the lamplight, picking up hints of gold and auburn.

"What are you doing out after dark, little girl?" he growled, prowling up to the edge of light, but not entering. She jumped, pure terror etched on her pale face.

"Spike!" She rushed out of the light, straight into the darkness where he stood. "I'm so glad it's you!" She tugged on his leather sleeve, and looked up at him with complete adoration and trust. If he could barf, he would have.

"Will you stop doing that, Snack Size. You're gonna bruise the leather." He yanked his arm away, glancing around to make sure no one saw him **not **eating the Slayer's kid sis. Fuck, how mortifying.

"Oh, sorry." She quipped, crowding closer. If he didn't know better he'd think she was snuggling up to him for protection, and that could not _possibly_ be the case. He knew for a fact, big sis warned her about him. Big, bad, and dangerous were the precise adjectives used. Was the girl lack-brained? He peered down at her.

"Aren't you violatin' one of big sis' precious rules?"

Dawn reddened, and now she was so close he could smell the salt stink of tears on her. "Oh. Out after dark. It's less of a rule, and more of a way of life."

"Uh huh," Spike drawled, demanding an answer. Dawn shifted under his scrutiny. He watched as she screwed up her face in a way that reminded him of the Slayer when she was getting ready to stake him good and proper.

"Could you walk me home?"

"No!" Spike was appalled. What was wrong with this sprog? Was she dropped on her head as a tot? He was the Big Bad, not a soddin' boy scout. Where did this brat come off thinking he was some sort of savior and not the monster who was going to have her for dinner? "Didn't your sister tell you? I'm dangerous!"

"Oh, right." She actually sounded like she forgot. Was it something about him? Did he not slick his curls down tonight? He swept his hands over his skull, relieved to feel that his unruly hair was completely under control. What the fuck? Was he losing his touch? Maybe he should vamp out to remind her he was _EVIL!_

She shifted away and tucked her hands under her armpits defensively. Spike felt a moment of gratification. That was much better. It wasn't outright, pants-pissing terror, but it was better than the near affection she was displaying before.

"You gonna kill me?"

_Eeeh. Fuck._ What to say to that? Was he? Why hadn't he? They'd been standing alone in the dark for nearly five minutes. She should be a luke-warm corpse on the neighbor's lawn by now.

When he didn't answer right away she asked, " You gonna kill my sister?"

"Yes!" he snarled. Finally! Something he could respond to. He was going to swallow that bitch down like she was Slurpee on a hot day. She would taste like candy and sex and everything nice. Then he and Dru would fuck on her cooling corpse. He'd paint crimson rosettes of Slayer blood on the hard, white flesh of his love and lick it off. He'd pump his cock…Snack Size scrambled away. Her usually flushed face was pallid, and he frowned. The fear wafting off her was nauseating.

"Oh, well. This is…um…awkward," she stuttered. She fidgeted under his hard glare. Her entire body was canted away from him, but she didn't make any move to run.

"Isn't it time for you to start referring to lesson the first?" He kinked his head to the side, watching her with narrowed eyes.

"Why?" she asked in a tiny voice, and his head almost exploded. _Why?!_ He was soddin' dangerous, that's why!

"I mean, you'd totally catch me in like two steps and I don't think there's a dirty trick in the book, I could use, if my sister can't even beat you."

Oh, well. That was a bit of alright, then. She did have a point. Clever baby bint. There was no way she could get away from him. He exhaled gustily, feeling suddenly right with the world again.

"Let's get you home." He strode towards her house, slowing his pace when she eventually scampered after him with her much shorter stride. After a few minutes he glanced down at her from under the veil of his lashes. Her head was lowered, and she was kicking a pebble along the walk. The smell of her fear had dissipated, but she was still upset about something.

"So you gonna tell me what the problem is, Snack Size?"

"My name is Dawn. D.A.W.N. Dawn."

Fuck. She was a real bitch, just like big sis. There must be some sort of Summers women training program they go through to learn how to wield axes and snark venomously.

His hand lashed out, grabbing her by the pigtail, and yanking hard. She squealed, but it was quickly cut off when he leaned down to look her in the eye.

"I. Don't. Care," he annunciated carefully. "'M the Big Bad an' I'll call you wot I want. Got it?"

She swallowed, her eyes the size of Scottish lochs. "Y-yah. G-got it," she stuttered. "Snack Size is good. I always wanted a nickname that wasn't stupid like Dawnie. Makes me sound like a New Kid on the Block."

He released her, and she skittered away, putting at least a foot and half between them, but she still didn't run away. He started walking, and she fell in step a little behind him. His stomach was feeling sour again, and he absently rubbed his hand over his midriff. He really should eat something.

"Well?" he snarled, glancing down at her. She blinked rapidly, fighting down tears while trying to remember what he asked.

"Oh." Her shoulders slumped. "I don't want to talk about it." She looked at him nervously. "Is that okay?" Now that he got it in her to mind her P's and Q's she wasn't sure which were the P's and which were the Q's. Little thing was jumpy as a cat in a dog pound.

"Fine." He waved her off, picking up speed. He didn't want to hear her stupid little girl problems anyway. Since she'd been heading home when he found her, she couldn't be running away, which meant all was well in the Summers' abode. Nothing there he could use against the Slayer when he squared off with her again.

"Kristy Fairfield is a jerk and a bully."

Spike slowed, and the young girl caught up. She launched a swift and completely ineffective kick at the too high grass of some sod's lawn as they passed through the darkness to another pool of light.

"I thought she wanted to be my friend, but she only invited me to her stupid slumber party so she and her little gang of butt monkeys could make fun of me." She sniffled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

"What'd they do?"

"Teased me and stuff. Said Buffy was a weirdo cause she got kicked out of her last school for setting fires. And, you know, she's always around when freaky stuff happens." She scowled, and Spike could see her twelve-year-old mind blaming her big sister for all her problems.

"Sorta her job, innit?"

"Yah," she pouted. "I just wish I could tell them how cool she really is. I mean, she saves people all the time. She'd even save them though they're a bunch of meanies. It's so unfair, ya know?"

"Yah." He fished out a fag, lighting it with a snick of his lighter. He knew how it felt to be helpless. To be the butt of everyone's joke. That's why he relished being the Big Bad. Anyone who fucked with him, got their heads twisted off.

"Teasin? That's it? You risked life and limb runnin' into the dark of night over that?"

He peered at her closely. The Slayer's baby sis was smarter than that. Besides, six years at preparatory school taught him better. If there wasn't more to the story he was a monkey's uncle. Sure enough, she curled into herself like a dying flower. She sniffled for a while and he let her be. Maybe it was something she should talk to her sister about.

"They waited until I was asleep then they put my hand in a bowl of warm water so I'd pee the bed." She started wailing, and Spike felt the god-awful sound in his spleen. Seeing approaching danger he tried to sidle away, but she was faster than she looked. She latched onto him, smooshing her soggy face into his stomach.

"Oi! Leave off! You're goin' to ruin the leather." He tried to pry her off, but she was like a fledge on a first kill. "I said—" he shoved her hard, and she spun away. "Leave off."

She landed on her butt in the grass, sobbing big, fat tears and leaking snot. Spike couldn't stop his sigh. The trick the brats played was pretty rough, especially on an adolescent girl. He edged just close enough, and patted her awkwardly on the head.

"Listen, Snack Size." He was surprised when her sobs lessened. It kinda warmed the cockles of his undead heart that the little girl wanted to hear what he had to say. He searched for some tidbit of wisdom to share.

"There's a bloody lot of wankers in the world. You being human an' all, you can't just go around twisting heads off so you gotta learn how to avoid them." Spike was proud of himself. The advice he gave seemed reasonably doable for a human. Avoiding after all wasn't the same as fleeing. It was just good strategy.

"What if you can't?" She wiped her eyes with her hand, and when she looked up at him with big, wet eyes he felt helpless in a way he hadn't in over a hundred years.

"Then you gotta give as good as you get. If they're bitches, then you gotta be a superbitch. Just watch your sis. She can give you lots of pointers."

Dawn frowned up at him, her nose crinkling. She reminded him of the Slayer when she found something particularly repugnant. He was the recipient of that look just the other night when he showed up to the little party her friend threw just for her. He almost had her, but he hesitated. For the barest second he wanted to know if the look of disgust on her face was because of what Angelus said to her. He had the almost overwhelming urge to blurt out that he would never touch Snack Size like that. But then the little bitch had to go and hold a stake to his Dru's heart, and all thoughts other than getting her between his teeth flew right out his head.

"Mom says I should walk away when someone's being mean to me."

"Bollox. Turnin' your back just makes you a target."

Dawn threw up her hands in pure exasperation. "Well, what should I of done?" she snapped.

Spike eyed her, taking the last long drag of his fag before he threw it at her feet. It bounced, the cherry-red tip nearly singeing her leg. She squeaked and scooted away. He deliberately stepped on the butt with heavy, buckled boot, stomping it out with a slow twist of his foot, his thick tread grinding on the sidewalk.

"For starters," he drawled. "You shoulda called the Slayer to pick you up instead of running out into the night where any number of beasties coulda made a meal of you."

"Yeah. I know." She rubbed her eyes one last time, and wearily pulled herself off the ground. Spike paced her as she slowly made her way down the walk. "Buffy is going to be so peeved."

Spike scoffed. Peeved didn't even begin to cover it. He imagined the Slayer's eyes flashing red with rage once she finally caught up with baby sis.

"What else?" Dawn asked.

Spike curled his lip, considering the question. "Well. Whenever your in someone's territory its always a good idea to get a lay of the land."

"What's that mean?" Her brow quirked.

"It means, snoop. I'm sure you're good at that. Figure out their secrets and what not. Know their weaknesses. It's too late now, but you shoulda read her girly journal if she had one. Woulda gave you ammunition."

She gasped, her little mouth rounded. "I couldn't do that. It's-"

"Evil?" he quipped, his scarred brow cocked.

"An invasion of privacy," she finished primly. "And kinda evil," she conceded.

"All I'm sayin' is a little revenge goes a long ways. Soon you'll get a rep and no one will bugger with you."

"Is bugger British for the 'F' word?"

Spike rolled his eyes, but didn't have a chance to answer. He smelled rage, fear and power. He pulled to a stop just outside a ring of light.

"Slayer."

She appeared under the street lamp, her hair gleaming like old gold in the light.

"Please don't hurt her, Spike." Her hand tightened around her stake, which was pulled tight to her chest. When Kristy's mom called to tell them that Dawn had run off, Buffy's first reaction was disbelief. There was no way her kid sister could be that stupid. Especially, so soon after Halloween. But here she was, sauntering down the walk with Spike of all people, and Buffy had to wonder if their mom had done drugs when Dawn was in utero.

Buffy's second, and all consuming reaction, was fear. Spike was the one enemy she had serious doubts about defeating in a fight. He had her fair and square at the school, and if her mom hadn't come along there'd be another Slayer rolling into the Hellmouth right about now. Buffy mentally rolled her eyes at that. She wondered if she was the only Slayer in the history of ever to be saved by her mommy. She had begged Giles not to include that little tidbit in his journal, but _nooo_. It had to be recorded for prosperity and all that crap. He was such a stickler for details.

She had also begged him not to mention how she was turned into a girly girl on Halloween, but again, no can do. Although, Buffy had to admit the tale would have made no sense without that little detail. How else could it be explained that she and William the Bloody were in a room together for twenty minutes and hadn't kill each other? But honestly, it didn't explain why she wasn't dead either.

The Slayer of Slayers literally had her at his mercy, and he hadn't touched a hair on hers or her little sister's head. It was just…weird. Unnatural. Friggin' freaky was what it was. Buffy honestly didn't know if she should be thanking him or staking him. And to top it off, the only reason she escaped the trap Ford lured her into earlier this week was because she was able to use Drusilla as leverage against Spike. She still wasn't sure how that happened. For a split second Spike had been distracted, looking at her like he wanted to say something. Like, _actually_ talk to her. But she kept a cool head and jumped at the opportunity for escape when she saw it.

She totally Spidermanned her way up to the mezzanine where Dru had been standing and took her hostage. That had been a truly heart stopping moment. When Spike turned around, the flicker of emotions across his face had been mesmerizing. Love for his lover, fear for her life, and all encompassing hate for Buffy. The fear and hate were to be expected. It had been the love that had thrown her. Soulless demons weren't supposed to love. But, maybe there'd never been a demon like Spike before.

Spike was one weird vampire, and it was his unpredictability that made him so dangerous. She honestly never knew what he was going to do next.

It was all very confusing so she settled for asking him nicely to not hurt her sister. Except maybe she hadn't asked as nicely as she thought, because something distinctly malignant flashed in his eyes. He jerked Dawn in front of him, wrapping his long fingers around her tiny neck. Dawn, the stupid brat she was, didn't look as scared as she should be

"'Fraid I'm gonna take a bite out of Snack Size, are you?"

His tongue curled behind his teeth in a way that made Buffy feel really, really dirty, and suddenly her fear took a whole new turn down a really grody alleyway. He must have seen it on her face or smelled it in her sweat or whatever gross thing vampires did, because his face went colder. If that was at all possible.

"She's _twelve! _Just a little girl," Buffy stuttered.

The look of pure disgust he shot her made her feel ashamed. He shoved Dawn towards the light, taking a step back into the darkness.

"Damn straight, Slayer. She's just a girl and I like my women to be women." His hot gaze raked over her, his lips twisting in a way that told her, he thought she fell into the little girl category. She couldn't pinpoint why it infuriated her, but it did. She hadn't been a little girl since she got called all those months ago, and she was going to be seventeen in a few months. That definitely put her in the woman category.

She pursed her lips, holding out her arms to capture Dawn in a hug. She did wonder sometimes if she acted a little immature. Angel seemed to think so from the time to time. He was always hiding things from her as if he thought she wasn't smart enough or mature enough to handle it. She had to admit she was still learning things. Not just school things or Slayer things, but life things. For instance, on Halloween she learned she should never try to change herself to make others happy. That was a life lesson her mom had been trying to drill into her for years.

"Angel said—" She tried to defend herself, but Spike's snarl was so loud the neighbor's schnauzer started to bark.

"I know what that lying sod said. Didn't your mum warn you about miserable gits carrying tall tales?"

Buffy didn't know what to say to that, so she redirected her attention to Dawn. After a quick hug, she thrust her sister back by the shoulders to shake her.

"What were you thinking? You know the rules."

"I know. I'm sorry. I really am. And Spike totally reamed me for it." The young girl sniffled. Buffy shot Spike a look of pure astonishment. Spike shuffled, lighting a cigarette so he'd have something to do with his hands. He took a drag, and the orange wash of light made the plains and hollows of his face look demonic. Buffy blinked, returning her attention to Dawn.

"You still haven't told me what you were thinking."

Dawn pulled away, crossing her arms defensively. Her lower lip pouched out, and Buffy cringed. Spike saw it and chortled. _Chortled! _Like a friggin' turkey. The bastard knew what was coming.

"They were mean to me," she whined at decibels designed to make people's eyeballs twitch. Buffy's cringe worsened.

She could hear the hurt in her baby sister's voice, and see the remnants of tears on her face. She had to check herself before she went ballistic. Oh, how she wanted to march over to Kristy Fairfield's house, and punch the little brat square in her perfect upturned nose. What was the point of superpowers, if you couldn't use them on those who deserved it?

This was all her fault. People thought she was weird, and that back splashed onto Dawn. She couldn't help being the Slayer, and it wasn't like she could announce it to the world. Inexplicably, burning down a school gym, for instance, gave her a less than stellar reputation. Those inexplicable oddities were hard to hide, especially from the youth of Sunnydale. The adults were pretty thick, but the kids could definitely smell rats. A big, fat undead rats. And they took it out on Dawn.

"I told you not to go. That Kristy girl is a B.I.T.C.H."

She stiffened when Spike's chuckle drifted through the night, twining its way around her lower belly, and making a very uncomfortable beeline south. She was only supposed to get those kind of tinglies around Angel.

"Tell me, Slayer. Is it less nasty if you spell it out? If I tell you to F.U.-"

"Shut up, Spike." Her gut clenched. She hated the fact she found him even the littlest bit sexy. In her defense it wasn't her fault. It was his voice. He could make dog crap sound sexy with that accent.

He laughed, tossing his cigarette away as he turned to leave. Suddenly, Dawn darted from her side.

"Dawn!" she screamed, snatching at thin air. Spike spun at the sound, and Dawn launched herself at him, twining her thin arms around his middle for a quick hug.

"Thanks, Spike," she said, scooting away before he could shake her off. Buffy almost couldn't stop her completely inappropriate giggle at the look of appalled outrage on his face.

"Oi, Slayer! You gotta tell her to stop doing that! It's—it's not proper, I tell you. If she keeps going around thowin' herself at beasties she's gonna get eaten."

Buffy schooled her face into an implacable mask as she looked at her sister. "Spike's right, Dawn. You can't be doing that."

"But it's, Spike. He's a total sweetie."

"Bloody, buggering, fuck!" Drifted from the shadows, followed by an exasperated, "Women!" Then he was gone, swallowed up by the night. Buffy pulled Dawn close, suddenly feeling exposed.

"C'mon, Dawnie. Lets go home."

"Kay."

Her sister snuggled in close as they hot-footed it home. Buffy couldn't shake the feeling of being watched as the walked, but whenever she looked over her shoulder all she saw was deep, dark shadows.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from BtVS.

Spoilers: What's My Line?

**Remember When**

Chapter Four

Buffy was exhausted. Her hair and clothes smelled like smoke, and she was covered in soot and blood. She shimmied up her tree, quietly entering her room. It was too late to take a shower without waking up her mom, but if she was quiet enough she could wash up in the sink.

She hauled Angel back to his apartment with Kendra's help, and she had never been so glad to have another person present when she was with him. She could tell he wanted to talk about what happened, but she honestly didn't know what to say. She was still trying to process her own emotions.

Spike was dead. She didn't know how she felt about that. Of course, there was a sense of relief. After all, he had been trying to kill her since he came to town. He ruined parent teacher night, struck a deal with Ford to trap her, and worst of all he put Dawn in danger when he summoned the Order of Taraka. All so he could capture and torture her boyfriend, and use him for some bizzaro ritual to heal his crazy girlfriend.

Just the thought of it made her blood boil. Honestly, she was more pissed off about him siccing the maggot monster on her house than she was about him kidnapping Angel. Because, and this was the real gut twister, she felt betrayed by him. How sick was that? She felt betrayed that a blood-sucking fiend of the night followed his natural inclinations and tried to hurt her and her family. The fact she felt that way, only proved she was losing her edge. Because Spike _was not_ a good guy. He just wasn't. And if she ever needed a refresher course on the evilness of vampires, then all she had to do was remember his last words to her.

She turned on the bathroom sink, hissing as she ran her hand under the tap. The sharp sting of the burn that ran lengthways on her palm brought tears to her eyes. She watched her reflection in the bathroom mirror as a single tear cut a swathe through the soot on her cheek.

"_Snack Size been takin' any late night strolls lately?"_

She could hear his voice in her head as clearly as if he was in the bathroom with her. She closed her eyes, the sense memory of smell the strongest. The wood decay from the rotten floorboards and broken pews, dustiness from the heaps of canvas laying about, underpinnings of varnish from when the church had been lovingly seen to so many decades ago. The scents of leather, whiskey, tobacco and the cloying hint of Drusilla's perfume she always associated with Spike. Later, all that was burned away with the lung itching odor of smoke and blood. Behind her eyelids she could see the tumble down church, Angel and Drusilla strung up like sides of beef, a ceremonial dagger thrust through their hands. The fire casting devil caricatures on the shadowy walls. It was all so vivid. She didn't know if she would ever forget this night.

Oh, how his comment lit a fire under her ass, reminding her why she was so mad at him in the first place. It was bad enough he'd come to her town causing all kinds of mayhem, but he'd gone too far. The crunch as she popped him in the nose was satisfying. As was the tingle of excitement in her belly when her blow barely snapped his head back. Fighting with Spike was always such a pleasure, and if anyone found that dirty little secret out, she'd kill them.

"_What do you care, you jerk? Because of you some disgusting maggot monster has been camped outside my house for two days." She pushed him back with a series of blows, her tirade punctuated with pants of exertion. "What if Mom hadn't been out of town? Then Dawn would have been there instead of staying at Janice's."_

_Spike retaliated with a rounded punch to her ear that staggered her. He followed up with a kick to the ribs, and she heard more than felt something crack._

"_So what?" he snarled._

So what? He hadn't even cared. There hadn't been a flicker of remorse in his ice blue eyes. Why had she thought he would care? Because he didn't kill them on Halloween? Because he escorted Dawn safely home when he could have left her corpse cooling on their front porch? Just because Dawn had developed a weird kind of hero worship for the guy, didn't make him into something he wasn't. Spike was a soulless killer. A killer that Dawn happened to like more than Angel who had a soul. If that wasn't a world of wrong then Buffy didn't know what was.

Clean, she pulled on her bathrobe and headed for her bedroom. She quietly closed the door, relying on the moonlight from her windows to navigate the shadowy room.

"Wha'cha doin'?"

Buffy nearly jumped out of her skin. She glared at the ambiguous shadow on her bed, before tightening the belt of her bathrobe, and heading to her dresser for some pajamas. Stupid kid sister always sneaking around. It was a wonder Buffy had any secrets with the super sleuth pester brat always nearby.

She stalled for time by searching for her most worn, comfy pjs. She was going to need as much comfort as she could for what was about to come. She knew as soon as the organ collapsed, Spike's death wasn't a secret she was going to keep from Dawn. She dropped her robe, dressing quickly before turning around.

"You've been fighting." Buffy's bruises were a mottled purple now, but would be gone in the morning, and mom would be none the wiser. Dawn dropped down to all fours and fished around under Buffy's bed. She pulled out a first aid kit, expertly flipping it open. Silently, Buffy sat on the bed, extending her hand palm up. She watched with sad eyes as Dawn tsked over her burn, salving it with silvadene and wrapping it in pretreated gauze that wouldn't stick to the wound.

When Dawn was done, and the kit hidden away, Buffy scooted over on the bed. "I have something to tell you," she said solemnly, patting the bed beside her. Dawn obediently sat, but instead of leaning into Buffy, she curled her coltish legs up so her knobby knees were under her chin. Her eyes were big and blue and Buffy thought she might already know what she was going to say.

"There was a fight tonight. Angel was in danger."

"You saved him."

It was less of a question, and more of a statement of unquestionable faith. It warmed Buffy that her little sister had so much belief in her abilities. When Buffy first explained what she did, Dawn was only eleven at the time. Buffy went through the whole spiel. Chosen One, Vampire Slayer, warrior of the light, yada yada yada. When she was through Dawn turned those big baby blues on her and simply said, "So you save people?" It hadn't really been a question then either. Just a description of what Buffy did. She saved people.

"Yah, I saved him."

"Cause, that's what you do. Even if they don't deserve it."

That sent warning flares through Buffy's psyche. "You don't think Angel deserves to be saved?"

"I didn't say that," she replied noncommittally, but she looked away. Buffy knew Angel made Dawn uncomfortable, but she didn't know why. He never did anything inappropriate around her. He would get a little quiet, but it wasn't like he was a Chatty Cathy in the first place. When she asked him about it, he said it was because he felt badly for scaring her the first time they met. With the bumpies and everything. Dawn assured her that wasn't why. She just said she didn't like the way he looked at her. It gave her the willies. Buffy thought it was nonsense. Angel was intense, that's all. He was still a predator, even with a soul. But his soul made him one of the good guys. He would never hurt Dawnie.

Spike didn't have soul, and he hadn't hurt Dawn either, but that didn't mean he wouldn't have eventually. He sent the Order after her, knowing they would take out anyone who was in their way to get to her. Point of fact the bitch who opened fire in the school. In a school! Surely, Spike had to of known that meant her family too. That it meant Dawn.

_She deflected his punch, slamming her elbow into his sternum. He folded over with a whoosh, and she grabbed a fistful of hair, levering his face up._

"_So what?" she raged. "She could have died, Spike."_

_Spike shoved his fist low into her gut, and she let go of his hair with a grunt. He wrapped his hand around her throat with lightening fast agility. He pulled her into his chest, anchoring her to his body with an unyielding arm around her waist._

"_Slayer. Why are you rantin' at me like I'd give a rat's arse?" His tone was silky. The din of the battle faded away until there was only the blue of his eyes, the violence in his tightly coiled body, and the laced threat in his voice._

_She stopped struggling, allowing herself to be held by him. Hurt at his callousness unfurled in her chest, and it infuriated her. Why _was_ she screaming at him like he should care? He was a cold-blooded murderer on a mission to kill her. A few stolen, awkward moments didn't change that._

"_Dunno. I'm stupid I guess."_

_Something flashed in his blue eyes and she cocked her head as if by changing her angle, she'd be able to decipher what it meant._

"_Right, then." He shoved her away. Drusilla screeched and the moment was lost._

"Spike was there." She tangled her fingers with Dawn's. She didn't want to do this. She really didn't. Dawn had a connection with Spike that Buffy couldn't understand. She was sure it was one-sided. Dawn was a just a little girl. She was impressionable, and Spike was charming in a bad boy kind of way. He was all about adolescent rebellion, and sticking it to The Man, and all that crap that appealed to a twelve year-old constrained not only by the rules of society, but added compliance to the Slayer way of life. Spike was Dawn's rebellion, that's all.

Except it wasn't. Buffy knew it wasn't. She could approach it as grown up as she liked, but Dawn's acceptance of Spike went beyond preadolescent rebellion. There was something there. Buffy couldn't put her finger on it, but she could feel it too. A certain attraction. Not sexual. A world of no on the sexual. More of an attraction one feels for family. A sense of belonging. Spike belonged to them. And that was so wrong, Buffy wasn't even sure where to find right again.

"Is he okay?" Dawn's eyes were big and shimmery in the moonlight, and not for the first time, Buffy wondered how she did that. How she managed to look like some sad anime cat that made you want to gather her up, and hug her until it was all better again? It wasn't lost on Buffy that Dawn hadn't asked the same question of Angel. Whether it was because she figured Buffy save-age meant he made it out unscathed or she just didn't care as much for Angel as she did Spike.

"We fought," she hedged.

"You fought, Spike?"

Buffy wrapped her arm around Dawn's thin shoulders. "I know you don't get this, but Spike and I are enemies. He kills slayers." She didn't know why she said that. Maybe she thought it would make it easier if she could just get Dawn to understand how evil Spike was. She knew it was useless though.

"He's not okay, is he?" Buffy slumped. Dawn was too smart for her own good. There was no way Buffy was going to escape this. She shouldn't escape it. She needed to own up to her responsibilities, and Dawn and Spike were hers.

"No, Dawnie. He's not." She gripped her sister's hand tightly. "He's dead," she whispered around the lump in her throat.

_He launched her into a wall, whirling towards his lover. As Buffy fought her way out the debris she felt a wave of shame. She had been so absorbed in Spike she had completely forgotten about Angel. She focused her shame into anger and she snatched up a silver censor, nearly engulfed in the fire Spike had set. The metal chain burnt the palm of her hand as she swung it above her head. She released it with unerring accuracy, striking Spike in the back of the head as he tried to escape with Dru in his arms. She watched with a growing sense of horror as he was knocked into the huge pipe organ, already weakened by years of neglect and decay. Spike struck the support strut and the entire weight of the mahogany frame and copper piping collapsed, burying them both under a half a ton of debris._

"You couldn't save him?" Buffy heard the waver of faith in Dawn's voice and something cold slithered around in her chest. For the first time she felt a mortifying sense of distance between them. Dawn was pulling away from her, and to her shame, she knew she deserved it.

"I—" Buffy closed her eyes.

_Buffy took a step towards the pile, intending on digging Spike out, but screams from behind stopped her. Flames were leaping along the walls and thick black smoke was choking her. There was no way to save him, and she had other people depending on her._

_She hurried to Angel's side, hauling him up, and supporting him on her shoulders. She studiously kept her face averted from his speculative gaze, and she absolutely did not look back at the burning church as they poured out onto the dark street._

"No. He wasn't for me to save." She hugged Dawn close, but her sister was unyielding.

"But you save everyone. I told Spike you save even those who don't deserve it. Why didn't you save him?"

"I'm sorry, Dawn. I really am."

Dawn wrenched away from her, scooting off the bed. "No. I don't think you are. You saved Angel and left Spike. But as long as you got what you wanted, right, Buffy?" Dawn was standing beside the bed, her little hands knotted into tight fists. Tears were streaming down her elfin face, dripping off the point of her chin.

Buffy reached for her, intending to pull her down on her lap like she had when they were small. Dawn dodged away, heading towards the door.

"You killed him!" she screeched. "I'll never forgive you. Never!" She ran out of the room, and Buffy launched after her, uncaring if they woke their mother. She had to get to Dawn, explain to her, tell her she was sorry for all of it.

She reached Dawn's door just as it slammed in her face. Behind the thin wood she could hear her sister sobbing as if her heart was broken. Buffy pressed her hot palms, and her flushed cheek against the cool wood.

"I'm sorry, Dawn. I really am," she whispered, but Dawn kept sobbing, and Buffy's heart kept breaking. She slid down the door, crumbling on the floor. She realized she was crying too. She was crying for her sister. She was crying for all the badness her calling brought to her family. But mostly, _secretly_, she was crying for the loss of Spike.

Spike awoke to total darkness. And pain. Intense, blinding, burning pain. _This is my punishment._ The thought drifted disjointedly through his agony-ridden mind. Punishment for what?

"_She could have died, Spike."_

Right. The Slayer's little sis. The church. Drusilla's ritual. An angry, self-righteous Slayer screaming at him for endangering Snack Size.

Spike tried to turn his head, but it felt like a million fire ants had taken up residence in his skull. He closed his eyes against the darkness, inexplicably comforted when the complete blackness was of his own doing. It gave him a sense of control. He could tell he was laying on something hard. He twitched his fingers, and he thought he felt the smooth planks of wood, but it was hard to tell through the searing pain shooting up his arm.

The base of his back was throbbing, and he desperately needed to relieve the pressure. He bent his knee to push himself onto his side, but nothing happened. His leg didn't move. His knee didn't bend. His toes didn't twitch. He wasn't even sure if he had toes. He couldn't feel anything below his waist. Nothing.

"Dru," he gasped, panicked.

There was a scurrying, but it was too small to be anything other than a rat. Other than that, there was no response to his call.

"Dru." Bloody hell, it hurt. It felt like his lungs were on fire. His throat was scorched and raw. His jaw pinched and oozed when he opened his mouth. He reminded himself not to breath. To keep himself as still as possible. But he needed to draw breath to yell. He needed to yell to get help. He didn't want to be alone and helpless in the dark. He desperately needed to know what happened. He needed to know where his legs were.

"Anyone!" His strangled yell was cut off by his gasp of agony. Tears welled up behind his closed lids, seeping out of the corners of his eyes. The liquid washed grit and ash from his eyes, scratching his corneas. _What a miserable, soddin' way to die._

There was a scrapping sound. Much larger than a rat. He tensed, feeling vulnerable, and shamefully afraid. He couldn't defend himself. Couldn't do anything except lay there and wait to die.

Light guttered around the room. Spike could see the dance of it behind his eyelids and hope surged in his chest. He opened his eyes, blinking as shadows took shape. He wasn't blind! Merciful heavens. At least he could see! He tilted his head to the side, clamping down his scream behind straight, white teeth. His faithful minion Dalton was lighting candles at the nightstand beside his and Dru's bed. He glanced down, realizing he lay on the broken down door just inside the room, strewn across it as if he had been discarded as so much refuse.

Thank the fucking gods, his legs were still there.

"Dalton," he rasped. His minion hurried over, a distressed look upon his scholarly face. He fluttered about, his hands hovering over Spike, but not settling anywhere.

"I did not know if I should move you, Master. I did not want to worsen your injuries."

"What happened?"

"I do not rightly know. Mistress brought you back in this condition." There was vague disapproval on Dalton's face. Spike ignored it.

"Where's Dru?"

Dalton turned his face away, and the lenses of his glasses flashed in the candlelight. "I'm not sure, Master. She-she seems to have wandered off."

Spike knew what Dalton left unsaid. It was a bloody miracle she kept her senses about her long enough to get him back to the factory in the first place. Now that she was restored to full strength she was more than likely dancing her way down the streets of the town, looking for something fresh to fuck and eat. In her eagerness, she couldn't even be bothered to walk the few feet to the bed and place him there.

"Help me onto the bed, Dalton."

The man fluttered again, and Spike couldn't help but to be reminded of Dru's many pet sparrows. The man's anxiety was telling.

"Is it that bad?" Spike whispered.

Dalton ducked his head, frowning at the floor. "It's not good, Master," he said softly. "I think your back may be broken."

Spike felt his heart harden. Fucking Slayer. She did this. His black goddess could be excused for her neglect. She could barely care for herself, much less another. But the Slayer. She had willfully attacked him while his arms were full and his back was turned. She was a coward, and she would pay for this newest humiliation.

"_Slayer. Why are you rantin' at me like I'd give a rat's arse?" _

"_Dunno. I'm stupid I guess."_

Maybe he should start with Snack Size. Killing the Slayer's baby sis would destroy her. It was stupid of her to assume he wouldn't hurt the little girl, just because he had been merciful in the past. He didn't deserve the look of intense betrayal she directed at him. It was her own damn fault for thinking he should care about the little half-brained twit. He was a killer. A vampire. The Big Bloody Bad.

He'd suck down that sweet as sugar baby bint then he'd go for the Slayer. 'Coz he was the Slayer of Slayers. It's what he did. Nothing could keep him down. Not a broken back. Not a neglectful paramour. And sure as hell not a brassed off slayer. He'd be back. And when he was, they'd better watch themselves.

"Put me on the bed," he ordered fiercely, and Dalton was driven to obey.

His minion wedged his arms under his shoulders and knees, and try as he might, Spike couldn't hold back the screams of agony that reverberated through the abandoned factory. The last thing Spike was conscious of was being lifted in the air, and the searing burning that covered every inch of his flesh. He felt himself being burned alive, and he had never been so thankful for the darkness to well up and swallow him whole.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from BtVS.

Spoilers: Surprise

A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews. You are all so generous. I'm very happy that you are enjoying the story so far. I know it's lacking in Spawn interaction at the moment, but hang in there! I'm planning some very lovely scenes soon.

**Remember When**

Chapter Five

Buffy was having a Slayer dream. She knew it was a Slayer dream, because of how the weight of the air lay on her skin, grounding her in the moment. It was heavy with ozone and made the tiny hairs on her body stand on end. Normal dreams always felt light and insubstantial, they flittered back and forth between various impossibilities. Slayer dreams were weighted with possibility, while being littered with impracticalities. It made it difficult to tell the difference between reality and dream. Especially this particular dream, because frankly her upstairs hallway just didn't open up into the Bronze, and it made her question her instincts. The devil was in the details her mom liked to say.

Willow with a monkey almost threw her. That was kinda plausible. Willow was just the kind of girl to have a French monkey whose pants had been thieved by a hippo. Buffy just shrugged and turned away. 'Cause that's just a whole barrel of monkeys she didn't want to be involved in. Heh, barrel of monkeys.

Buffy came to an alarmed standstill. Besides the stage stood her sister in a cute green and white dress with knee socks and patent leather shoes. Her hair was done up in two braids, and she looked to be only five or six. Buffy took a step closer, the instinct to protect running rampant inside her chest. The need to look after her little sister was a constant hum in the background of her mind, but the surge of protectiveness she felt while seeing her sister so young and vulnerable was almost shocking. A spark ignited in her mind, screaming the imperative to place Dawn's safety above all others. To see her guarded against the monsters that wanted to take her away. That wanted to squeeze her into a hole and twirl until her frail human body broke apart and the fragile light of her soul extinguished.

"I'm a gift," Dawn chirped sweetly.

Spike rolled up next to Dawn in a black wheel chair with red accents. She would have rolled her eyes at his flare if she weren't so suddenly heartbroken. Spike wasn't family. He was dead. She killed him.

"A right shiny one, you are." He turned his head, meeting her gaze. His face softened, as if he was sad for her. "What about the Golden Rule, Slayer?" His voice was gravely. It sounded like he was trying to talk around a mouthful of grave dirt.

Buffy shook with the intensity of it. Sweat beaded under her arms and along her spine, making her tank top cling uncomfortably to her skin. It took her a minute to realize that the Dawn she was looking at was a replica of the family photo mom had on her nightstand. It was a picture of the whole family, including their dad. It had been taken when they still lived in L.A. When they were still a happy family.

_Family. _Family was important. Nothing should ever come before family.

"Huh?" She frowned at him. He took Dawn's tiny hand in his big one. He looked at Buffy like she disgusted him or maybe it was disappointment in his clouded blue eyes. She opened her mouth to tell him to get away from her sister, but someone called her name from behind.

She turned around. Angel stood at the edges of the crowd, and all thoughts of her sister and Spike were forgotten. The love she felt for Angel crowed all other emotions to the edges of her consciousness, pushing it out of her mind until her thoughts were only filled with him. She loved him with an intensity that was breathtaking. She felt the responsibility of her calling strongly. She was a hero. A savior. A guardian. But for Angel she would give it all up in a heartbeat if he'd only ask. She would easily sacrifice herself for him.

"It's him or Snack Size," Spike called. She felt an elemental tug behind her heart. She intuitively wanted to turn around and hurry back to Dawn. Her little sister shouldn't be out in public where she could be seen. She started to pivot, but Angel smiled and her heart melted. She floated towards him as if walking on air. That's how she always felt around him. As if she was in a beautiful fairytale, made into reality as a reward for all her sacrifices as the Chosen One.

Drusilla glided in from the peripheral, looking beautiful and predatory in her black, gauzy dress. Buffy panicked. She raced towards her lover, calling out to him, but it was too late. Drusilla plunged a wooden stake through Angel's back with malicious glee. Buffy reached for him, but as he disintegrated into dust her fingertips passed uselessly through his.

Even as she awoke screaming, she was shoving her sheets in her mouth to stifle the sound. She hunched around her blankets, hugging Mr. Gordo to her chest as she sobbed in agony. She didn't know what she would do if she lost Angel. She loved him so much. Until she met him, she had been so lonely in her calling. Now she had someone who understood what it meant to be the Slayer. Someone to occasionally help her, support her, and guide her when she felt lost. She couldn't lose him, she just couldn't.

She calmed herself, forcing herself to reach back into the dream and analyze it with a Slayer's rationality. It was hard. She had so many emotions swirling around her. The ache in her chest at the thought of losing Angel was prominent, but there was also a tingle of breathless excitement. If her dream was accurate, then Spike was alive.

Of course it was still a big possibility that he was dead too. Not every aspect of a Slayer dream was prophetic. He could merely be a symbol her subconscious used to remind her to look out for her family. That was something she never needed to be reminded of though because it was always in the forefront of her mind. Although, the urge to protect Dawn had been surprisingly vivid in her dream.

She threw back her heavy down comforter and silently made her way across the hall in stocking feet. She eased open her sister's bedroom door and crept inside, the Mickey Mouse nightlight casting the room in a faint bluish glow. Dawn still slept with it even though she was almost a teenager. Buffy frowned. Dawn should have grown out of the need for a nightlight by now. Buffy had stopped needing one when she was about nine or ten.

She sunk down on the edge of the bed, silently looking at her sleeping sister. Dawn was curled up on her side, one hand tucked beneath her chin, her long brown hair tangled across her pillow. She looked so grown up compared to her dream, yet so young and innocent at the same time.

Was the reason Dawn still needed a nightlight, because she knew monsters really were real? That there were things that went bump in the night. Adults were also so amendment in belying children's fears. Mom's favorite consolation was that there was nothing in the dark that wasn't there in the light. But that was a lie. Oh, it wasn't a conscientious lie. Her mom just didn't know any better. But her and Dawnie knew better. There were things in the dark, that weren't in the light. Things like Spike.

Buffy smoothed a tangle of hair away from Dawn's brow with a trembling hand. Since she told Dawn about Spike's death there had been a distance between them that Buffy felt acutely. They had always been close. Surprisingly so, given their age difference. When mom first brought Dawn home from the hospital, Buffy had looked down at her and had known instantly that Dawn belonged to her. Dawn was hers to protect, hers to love. Now that love was endangered, because Dawn couldn't forgive Buffy for Spike's death.

What if Spike was alive? What if her dream was a foretelling? Did it mean she would have to fight Spike again? Kill him again? Could she live with telling her sister a second time that she killed her favorite vampire? Worse, what if she hesitated while fighting Spike and he killed her? Who would watch over Dawn then?

Buffy withdrew from her sister's bed, reassured that she was still safe for the moment. Her feelings swirling around Spike and her sister was ambiguous. She needed to concentrate on something she could fight. The real threat was Drusilla. There was no doubt she was still alive and from her predatory actions in the dream she was completely restored to power, and gunning for Angel. Drusilla couldn't have him though. Angel was hers, she thought grimly as she entered her bedroom to dress in the gray light of the early dawn. No one messed with what was hers.

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God, it still hurt everywhere. The burns weren't raw and seeping anymore, but blisters still covered most of his body. He needed nourishment; he needed Sire's blood.

Drusilla hummed as she swayed in the center of their bedroom. She held Miss Edith to her chest, listening to whatever secrets the sodding doll whispered in her ear.

"Luv," Spike croaked from the bed. She either didn't hear him or chose to ignore him. "Dru," he called louder, and she stopped swaying, pinning him with amber eyes. He held out his hand, palm up, trying desperately to look like a lover beckoning his lady to bed, instead of an invalid begging for help.

She floated over to him, her midnight gossamer skirts billowing behind her. When she was weakened she had been an ethereal beauty, at full strength she was a stunning, black goddess. Her smile was cold as she placed her hand in his. He was used to her iciness. There had never been warmth between them. Even love couldn't warm dead flesh.

He brought her hand to his lips, kissing the back of her wrist. He caressed her silken skin with light brushes of his chapped lips, slowly rotating her wrist until he could see the lines of her blue veins. His demon rushed to the forefront, but he controlled the urge to sink his fangs into her. She had been so flighty lately. Refusing to let him feed, while ranting at him about pixies and sunshine. He needed to coax her, caress her, convince her to nourish him.

Her other hand cupped his skull, her fingers furrowing through his hair. Permission received, he sunk his fangs into her veins, his eyes rolling back as the sweet tang of her blood rushed into his mouth and down his throat. The blood was just as cool as her body. Warm blood only came from warm beings. Living, breathing humans who heated their blood just by the benefit of a beating heart. But Sire blood was sweet and sustaining. It gave him strength and healed his wounds. For the barest of moments he thought about what the Slayer's blood must taste like. Hot and thumping with power unimaginable. It would heal him far faster than Sire blood.

Drusilla yanked her wrist away with a shriek, his fangs slicing furrows in her soft flesh. He tried to hold onto her, but he was too weak. He snarled with the loss of healing blood. Just one sodding meal! That's all he was asking for. To be healed so he could hunt on his own. Why was it so impossible for her to care for him just a little?

"Dru," he gasped, hating the pleading in his voice. She didn't look back at him. Her blood dripped unchecked onto the ground, forming scarlet rosettes. She stared at the drops blankly.

"Blood roses. That's what we need for my party. Blood roses strewn into the garlands." She floated out of the room, Spike seemingly forgotten in favor of her party.

Spike clenched his eyes shut, his shoulders curling away from the headboard where he was propped up in agony. He heard movement in the room with him, and he opened his eyes hoping to see that Dru had returned to him.

Dalton walked out of the shadows, his eyes respectfully averted. In his hands he held a brown paper bag. Spike heaved a despairing sigh. If it hadn't been for Dalton he would have starved to death before now.

His minion pulled out a bottle of blood from the bag, and quietly went about pouring a goblet for Spike.

"This was all I could get at Willy's. The last of the money you gave me is gone." Spike accepted the glass with a nod. Without being able to hunt, Spike had no way to obtain cash. The last of his money had been used to buy himself human blood from Willy's to help his healing. Now that the money was gone, there would be no way for him to get blood, and he refused to ask any of the other minions for assistance. They all suspected how weak he was, but if they knew for sure there would be nothing to stop them from killing him to take his place as master. Not even fear of Drusilla. They had all seen how little she thought of him. It wasn't that she didn't love him of course. It was that she'd never had to play nursemaid before. She truly didn't understand how weak Spike was and what he needed from her. Her inability to understand looked like indifference to the rest of the minions, placing him into a tenuous position.

"I'm sorry I am such an unworthy minion, master," Dalton said quietly. Spike hazarded a glance at him from the corner of his eye. The vampire was standing next to the bed, his head hung in shame. Normally, Spike would send his minion out to bring him back a fresh kill to feed from, but Dalton had never been a very good vampire. He was loyal. He was intelligent. But a crap vampire. The sod didn't have the instincts to hunt humans. He fed himself on dogs and cats and other such vermin.

Dalton expected a scathing put down from his master, but all he received was silence. It made him feel even lower. His master was good to him. Better than the mistress. He knew his mistress was insane, but he still didn't understand why she didn't heal the master's wounds. Why she was so cold and uncaring. He knew it was the way of vampires, but he knew his master was different. Just like he was different.

"You'll be taking delivery of the last piece two nights from now?" Spike asked.

"Yes, master."

"You remember what I told you. Take delivery outside the Bronze. Make sure you get her attention. Drop it and run," Spike ordered.

Dalton nodded, moving the bottle of blood closer to his master so he could reach it. It was more to keep his hands busy than anything. He was a fidgeter. Especially when he was nervous or confused.

"Master, may I ask," he paused waiting for Spike's slight nod. "Why are we helping the Slayer?"

"We aren't helping her, you sod," Spike snarled. "We're helping ourselves. What the fuck do you think would happen to us if Big Blue burns all the humans away? Think you and I are hungry now? Just wait until there's no humans to feed on." For some reason whenever he imagined the Big Blue Smurf wrecking havoc on the humans, he thought of Snack Size. She'd be one of the first to be burned up. All that humanity seeping out of her would be like a bleedin' beacon to something like the Judge.

Dalton nodded. His master wasn't like other vampires. He thought about consequences, not just his immediate satisfaction.

"That bint can't help, but be a champion. She'll take the arm far from here, and Big Blue will never get his coming out party. Yeah?" God. He fucking hated her. The self-righteous bitch. If it wasn't for her, he wouldn't be in agony. He wouldn't be a cripple. He wouldn't be faced with reality of his lover's disinterest. Her inability to love him. He shook his head. Drusilla couldn't help being what she was. A true vampire.

"Yes, master. I'll do as you command."

"Damn right you will. And Dru'll be none the wiser. Just need to keep up the charade of wantin' to end the world a while longer." Spike flashed fang, and Dalton backed away his eyes lowered. He heard about a blood delivery being made at the hospital. Perhaps he could take a couple of other minions and get some blood for his master. He needed to become a better vampire. Not for himself, but for his master. Because his master needed him, and it felt good to be needed. Even if he was just a soulless vampire.


End file.
